Chapter 12
A few days later, Morehouse notified Bev that the first lawsuit had been filed. Peters filed one lawsuit on behalf of more than forty deceased customers. Bev spent the day creating a spreadsheet of victims, categorizing them as employees or customers, alive and dead. She filled in the case information for the ones who had filed suit, and forwarded it by email to Rita Wentzel and Russ McGavin, with the message, “Looks like we're off to the races. We need to discuss litigation counsel.”
Rita responded about a half hour later, “The suit was filed in Dayton. I recommend Dominic Pariente. I know he's done a lot of work for your company so he'll satisfy Dave Jamison on the billing guidelines. He has a great litigation team that can handle large, complex litigation. His team includes one lawyer who's a doctor and two paralegals who are nurses. They'll be good with the medical aspects of these cases.”
McGavin chimed in, “That's fine with me. Bev, you make the call so he'll know you're in charge.”
Bev had never worked directly with Pariente before, but she was familiar with his reputation. She called his office. He was in trial, so she sent his secretary a copy of the complaint as well as the full list of victims so they could run a conflicts check. The woman said, “I'll get right on it, but I gotta warn you with this many parties, the conflicts check could take a couple of days.”
“I understand. No sweat. I'm pretty sure I can get an extension anyway.”
“Okay. We'll run the check and get back to you. Mr. Pariente's trial is due to wrap up on Thursday. Do you want to go ahead and schedule a call with him for Friday?”
“Yes. I think that's a good idea.”
Next she put in a call to Peters. “What are you doing, filing your complaints in batches?”
“Actually, I'm grouping them according to similarity of circumstance. Dead customers came first. Next will be dead employees. After that injured customers. Injured employees will come last because I've got to figure out how to work through the Comp issues. Ohio's workers' comp system is about as bad as I've ever seen.”
She laughed, “Yep. It's a total nightmare. About ten years ago, I fell in the lobby of the building. It was winter and snowy. The floor was wet. I submitted it as a comp claim. It was a nightmare. I finally withdrew the claim because it wasn't worth the hassle. I paid the bills out of my pocket.
“I heard a couple more of the people in the hospital died.”
“Yeah. I'm waiting for details, but that's my understanding.”
“How many people have you signed up.”
“I've got sixty-two.”
“Out of, what is it, eighty-four.”
“Yeah.”
“Any chance you'll get the rest of them?”
“I'm working on it. But, I gotta tell you there are a few other lawyers working on it, too.”
“That doesn't surprise me. Sharks circle where there's blood.”
“You know we'll get along better if you would minimize the editorializing.”
“Okay. Anyway, I called to ask for an extension of time to respond to the complaint. For one thing it's gonna take some time for the lawyers to run conflicts checks on all those people.”
“I understand. I'll give you an indefinite extension. I'm not ready to proceed yet anyway.”
“Will you confirm that in writing or shall I?”
“Sending you an email right now.”
“Okay. Also, do me a favor and send me a courtesy copy of your complaints when you file them. I can't accept service on behalf of the insured, but I'd like to have the heads up.”
“Sure, no problem. What else would you like me to do for your convenience?”
“You can cut the sarcasm, too.”
“Okay. Truce.”
They made small talk for a few minutes by way of proving that they could each play nice, and then hung up.
She called Paul and gave him an update. He asked, “What will my role be in the litigation?”
“You are lead counsel. At least you are until and unless we have to go to trial. Our litigation counsel will work in the background and keep the case file. They'll handle the discovery and all that. They will handle the trials if it comes to that. You are Mazzoli's lawyer, so you'll be the spokesperson. By the way, if Peters or any other lawyer asks if you'll accept service, tell them no. They have to serve Mazzoli personally. Tell Mazzoli not to play games with process servers. He should accept whatever they bring him and get it to you immediately.”
“Okay. I'm feeling very in-over-my-head.”
“Don't sweat it. At least as long as I don't have enough evidence to incriminate Mr. Mazzoli, I've got plenty of lawyers backing you up.”
The next few days each brought a new lawsuit from Peters, as well as some demand letters from a few local lawyers. Pariente cleared conflicts and agreed to serve as litigation counsel. He was not happy about the fact that Morehouse was still to be designated as lead counsel, but he understood the reason for having the home-town lawyer be the front man. The turf wars between the lawyers started almost immediately, when Pariente called Morehouse and asked for a copy of his file and also asked him to arrange for space in his office for some of Pariente's team when they would be in town interviewing witnesses. Morehouse didn't appreciate being dictated to, and Pariente didn't like it when people didn't jump instantly when he gave a order. Bev got them both on the phone and gave them strict orders to play nice or she'd find attorneys else who would.
After that, things quieted down for a little while. Bev worked on paperwork and putzed around, but there was little for her to do other than funnel information from Pariente and/or Morehouse to Russ and Rita. Beyond that, there was nothing to do but wait for the next round of reports from the investigators.
Bev took the opportunity to clean her house, get caught up on laundry and stock the freezer with pre-made meals.
Emily said, “You usually do that when you're going to be out of town for a while. What's up?”
“Well, for one thing there's nothing for me to do right now, so it's a good time to get caught up on my housework. For another, once we get the investigation report, it will be like I'm out of town because I'll be really busy.”
“So this is the calm before the storm?”
“Yeah. And this isn't just any old storm. This one is going to be the litigation equivalent of a hurricane.”
“Yikes!”
The phone rang. Bev picked it up and greeted Frank Rittenhaus. He didn't bother with preliminaries. “I'm on my way to your house. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I just came across some information which may or may not be material to the claim, but it's not good for your insured.”
“I'll be here.”
She looked up at Emily and said, “Looks like the first squall is about to arrive. Would you mind making yourself scarce?”
“I'll go clean my room.”
“Voluntarily? Please put in a call to 9-1-1. I feel faint.”
“Oh, hush, Mom.”
Rittenhaus arrived a few minutes later and they went into the den to talk. He didn't waste time on any preliminaries. “Your notes of the meeting indicated that somebody mentioned the fact that they were afraid that Mazzoli was not going to be able to meet the payroll. Those fears were well founded. Mazzoli's finances were in worse shape than we knew. He and his family had stopped taking salaries months ago. They and a few long-time, trusted employees were being paid cash under the table to avoid the payroll taxes.”
“Dammit. So even if he isn't guilty of arson-slash-insurance fraud, he's guilty of tax fraud.”
“Yes. Where does that leave your claim.”
“I'll run it by the lawyers, but I don't think it changes things unless it turns out that he set the fire. For me it adds another huge motive for us to argue away. And this one is bad. It shows that Mazzoli can and will commit a crime to serve his purposes. If he could screw with the IRS, he wouldn't hesitate to try to screw with Midwestern
Casualty.”
“What do you want from me on this?”
“Send me the raw data for starters. I want to get that to my peeps immediately.”
“You can follow it up with a file memo regarding how you found this information and who the potential witnesses may be.”
He pulled a manila folder from his briefcase. It was about three quarters of an inch thick. “I'll have Cici scan this. We might have to send it to you in batches.”
Bev stood up and said, “I can do better than that. I have a scanner here.” She opened a sliding door that looked like a closet, but which revealed a fully tricked out professional workstation with a laser printer, fax and scanner. She scanned the file and handed it back to him, saying “I'll forward you an electronic copy to save Cici the hassle.”
He left. Bev sat at her desk staring at the ceiling for several minutes. Eventually she rubbed her face and turned to her computer. She sent an email to Rita and McGavin briefly explaining what she had learned from Rittenhaus and cautioning that she had not yet read the documents. She forwarded the documents as attachments to three encrypted emails. The fourth message said, That's all, folks. I know I have to share this information with the cops. I am waiting until I've had the chance to review them and satisfy myself that Frank's conclusion is correct. That will give you time to review them as well. Maybe we can talk in about an hour.
She called each of them to ask that they attend to her email as soon as they could. She reviewed the first few documents which clearly showed that Mazzoli, his wife and his sister were not receiving regular payroll checks, according to the company's own payroll records. However, they were making irregular deposits to their bank accounts. Those deposits to the bank accounts coincided almost perfectly with “good days” at the restaurant. She didn't bother to read the rest of the documents. That was enough.
Then she went back to the kitchen and put on a pot of soup for dinner.
McGavin called her a little more than an hour later, with Rita Wentzel on the phone. They told her to go ahead and provide the information to the law enforcement agencies that were investigating the crime.
“Have you told Dietz about this?”
McGavin said, “No. Fortunately for us he's on vacation. He'll be back Monday. By then we will have either figured out a way around this, or we'll turn it over to him then.”
Bev sent the documents to the FBI and the crime lab in Cincinnati, with a copy to Ed Casey and Paul Morehouse. She immediately dialed Morehouse's number. “If you haven't seen the email I just sent you, go read it right away. Then please call your client and tell him that if he has any more of these little skeletons in his closet he needs to come clean right now. I don't want to get any further down the road and come up with more surprises like this. I'd like confirmation from you that you have had that conversation with him by noon tomorrow.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep.”
She hung up and tried with all her might to put on a cheery face for Emily at dinner.
Paul called her about nine in the evening. “I'm on my way home from my visit to the Mazzoli's.”
“I'm guessing that was not a fun visit.”
“Not at all. I still believe that they didn't set the fire. I can tell you they were both remorseful over this lapse in judgment...”
“Stop! First of all, tax fraud is not a lapse in judgment, it's a freaking crime. Everybody else in this world may prefer to use euphemisms. I don't play that game. It may have been a serious error in judgment for them to think they could fuck the IRS. It became a crime when they decided to actually try to do it. Mazzoli might as well go ahead and pack his toothbrush. The IRS doesn't take kindly to this.”
“You think the FBI will share the information with the IRS?”
“Theoretically Anderson should be on the phone with them now, but fortunately the FBI likes to play cowboy occasionally, so he may delay in the hopes that he can bust Mazzoli for arson and manslaughter before the IRS can prosecute him for violations of the tax code. I think the first one to put a guy in jail gets the bragging rights.”
“What are you talking about manslaughter? I thought you were going to prosecute him for insurance fraud.”
“My company will seek an indictment for insurance fraud. We will also sue him in civil court for breach of contract. The FBI will go after him for arson if he burned the building and manslaughter due to all the people who are dead. Even if he didn't burn the building which I still don't think he did, I am pretty sure jail time is one option for such flagrant tax fraud. Maybe a good criminal lawyer could get him probation. I recommend that if you don't do criminal work, you find a criminal lawyer to serve as co-counsel.”
“You gonna pay for that?”
“Nope.”
“Mazzoli has no money.”
“Then you better study up on criminal procedures really fast. I won't pay you for specific time spent strictly on defending any criminal prosecutions but for now it'll all come under the heading of investigation and I will pay the bills. Be careful how you describe the work, though, my assistant reviews the bills and my boss is the one who approves them.”
She cleared her throat and tried to take on a less strident tone in her voice.“By the way, tell him you want his copies of all his personal and business tax records. All of them. Back as far as he has them. I'm going to hire an accountant to go through them. He needs to be able to come up with the money to pay the IRS every nickel he may owe. I don't know where he's going to get money from. Looks like the amount of the immediate fraud is a couple of thousand dollars. Let's go back through his records and make sure there's nothing else. Maybe if he self-reports to the IRS, pays the back taxes plus interest and penalties, we can get this nipped in the bud before the FBI shares what it knows with their brethren.”
“I hear you. I'll get on that first thing in the morning.”
“Keep me posted.”
Bev went to bed early and fell asleep instantly.
The next morning Paul called. “I have Mazzoli's tax records. I haven't gone through them in any detail, but it appears to me that he's always been very careful. Until this year he used an accountant. This year he did his own taxes to save money. I think we may be able to argue to the IRS that it was stupid and wrong, but it was somebody who didn't know what they were doing. I'm meeting with his accountant this morning. We're going to go over the books this year, figure out what he owes and he's going to call a friend of his at the IRS.”
“Send me a copy of the records. All of them. Scan it to me and email it.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Okay. Hey, is this accounting work investigation?”
She paused for a long time. “Put it on your bill as a disbursement for his assistance in gathering documents. I will admit, I can't say for sure that it'll fly, but that's the only way it might.”
He laughed. “Do other adjusters counsel attorneys on how to get bills paid.”
“At one point in time I'm sure we've all done it. We know better than anyone what a pain in the ass our companies are about paying lawyers. Lawyers don't help their own cases by some of the stupid shit they do in billing. But the worse offenders are large firms that have a lot of employees and overhead expenses. I like to work with small firms. Anyway, get to work.” She hung up.
She sat on her bed and fired up her laptop. She'd decided to spend the day working on her second report to the company. That would serve three good purposes: it would score points with McGavin for somebody from claims to turn in a written report without being harassed and hounded for it; it would give Jamison a heart attack for the same reason; and, it would keep her occupied and give her the opportunity to review the details of all the information she had.
When Paul's email came through, she switched gears and forwarded it to Rita and McGavin with an update on what Morehouse and Mazzoli were up to.
McGavin responded asking her what her plans
were for the day. She replied that while she was waiting to hear back from the various investigators she was working on a second preliminary written report to him. Rita chimed in with a quip about hell freezing over when an adjuster writes a report without being asked.
The next few days dragged. She called all her investigators to make sure they were giving her case the full attention it deserved. They basically all told her to get off the phone and let them get back to work. On Friday, she asked Emily what her plans were for the weekend. She had none, so Bev suggested they go for a long bike ride on Saturday. Emily added, “Let's pack something and stay overnight someplace.”
Bev clapped, “Great idea. You look at the map and figure out a route. I'll get out the packs. You want to camp or stay in a motel?”
“How about a bed and breakfast? You need some pampering and I really don't like sleeping on the ground but I also don't like crummy motels. They always make me feel like I'm gonna get cooties.”
“You have someplace in mind.”
“Yes. I do. It'll be fun.”
“Will it be expensive?”
“Sort of. At least by your standards.”
“How did you hear about this place?”
“It's a bed and breakfast and spa out in the country. It's very popular with women. Some of the girls at school have talked about their mom's going there with their girlfriends. They drink wine and get massages and pedicures and what-not. Since you don't have any girlfriends, I'll have to do. We can drink juice and get massages.”
Bev grinned. “That sounds like fun. Will we need fancy clothes?”
“That's the cool thing. It's a spa, so you kind of spend the day in a bathrobe. All we'll need is a change of undies and maybe tee shirts to sleep in.”
“I'll get the backpacks down.”
Bev let everyone know that she was getting away for the weekend. She said she was taking her phone but not her laptop and would appreciate it if they would hold all messages except anything screamingly urgent until Monday.
Saturday dawned bright and clear. It was springtime in Ohio, which generally meant long, dreary, damp days, interspersed with the occasional sunny day with temperatures in the low seventies that seemed to make the grass greener, the flowers brighter and the air smell like perfume. Emily said she thought they could get to the inn in about six hours. Both Bev and Emily knew they'd be bored out of their minds sitting around being pampered, so they decided to take their time with their ride. Emily scheduled massages for 4:00. Emily wanted to get a manicure, but Bev didn't. Emily said, “Why don't you get a haircut, Mom? You've worn your hair the same way as long as I remember. You would look so much better with something less severe.”
“You are right. However, I travel a lot. I don't have time to keep regular hair appointments. My hair looks plain and dull, but I can cut it myself. I'll stick with this. I would like to have a facial, however.”
Emily made the appointments and they loaded their packs on the backs of their bikes and took off.
About ten miles out, they stopped at a stop sign and sipped water. Emily showed her mom the route on her GPS. She looked at the farmhouse on the other side of the T-shaped intersection. “I have always loved that house. It's so pretty and well maintained. Even the cows on that farm always look happy to me.”
When Bev didn't respond, Emily looked at her. Bev blinked away tears and cleared her throat, “That's the farm where your grandfather grew up.”
“You're kidding!”
“I think you're right about it being a happy place. At least it's a very happy place for the people whose personalities can tolerate the lifestyle. Your uncles and aunts all generally seemed to be happy and extremely well-adjusted people. Your dad, however, could never fit in there. Unfortunately, there was no middle ground with his family. They expected their kids to buy into the full program. Going off and finding yourself was not an option. Well, actually, going off to find yourself was always an option. Coming home afterwards was the problem.”
“They're Amish?”
“No. Mennonite.”
“Did you ever meet them?”
“I have met some of the family. Dad went to his father's funeral and I went with him. That was very uncomfortable. None of them spoke to him, but a few of them let me know that they understood and appreciated the respect that he intended to show for his father. His mother died a couple of years ago. Daddy was already dead, but I went to her funeral. They were actually very nice to me.”
“Why did Gramps leave?”
“I don't know the whole story. Dad was curious about the world and wanted to explore. He liked jazz music and fiction stories. He wanted to go to college. All of that was not what they had planned for him.”
“There are some Mennonites in my school. Do you think some of them might be my cousins.”
“It's possible, but I don't know. As I understand it some of the more progressive Mennonites send their kids to public schools. Most of them home school. I was always given to understand that Dad's family was among the most conservative of the old-guard. I'd be surprised if any of them send their kids to school. But, then, the world is changing, even among the Mennonites.”
As they rode on Bev noticed that Emily kept turning around looking back toward the house. She asked, “Do you want to meet them?”
Emily thought about it as she rode along. “A part of me does. But, a part of me is scared that it would be worse to meet them and have it be a bad experience.”
Bev nodded, “I can't guarantee that I could make it happen, but if you decide you want to meet them, let me know. I'll see if they would be willing to get together.”
“I probably wouldn't be very acceptable to them.”
“I would recommend that you consider cleaning up your language and dispensing with the black nail polish if we went that route.”
Emily laughed, “I guess I would want to not go when I'm in my Goth mood.”
“Right. I've noticed that you've moderated your appearance since you've decided to become a cheer-leader.”
“Yeah. I guess I'm kind of over Goth. I really did it to get a rise out of you, but it never really worked. I think I look better dressing a little less severely. I certainly get treated better at school.”
Bev rode along in silence for a while. She said, “Just for the record, I really, really hated your Goth thing.”
“How come you never let me know?”
“I figured it was my problem not yours.”
“It's no fun to rebel against a parent who's going to be all freaking reasonable about it.”
“Good.”
Emily threw back her head and laughed, then she took off on her bike at about three times the speed they had been traveling. Bev didn't even try to keep up with her. She continued to ride along at about 20 miles an hour. About a half hour later she caught up with Emily, who was sitting on a roadside picnic table drinking a bottle of water. Bev stopped for a drink as well. After that, they rode together to the inn, where they allowed themselves to be pampered and coddled. The inn had a very beautiful dining room which they decided would be fun to visit for a dress-up occasion sometime, but they ordered room service because they had brought only bike shorts. The next morning they went for a walk on the grounds and each had a second massage.
As they dressed to leave Bev laughed, “We may have to ride home separately. As relaxed as I am, I know I'm not going to be able to keep up with you. I feel like lolly gagging along and smelling the daisies.”
“Fortunately for you, Mom, so do I. Let's leave a little earlier than we had planned and just mosey along.”
“You think we can do it?”
“I doubt it. We're usually full-speed-ahead kinda gals. But, hey, this whole weekend is about getting out of our rut. How about we try to keep on slow time for a few more hours.”
“Works for me. No sprints on the way home?”
“Not unless I get a cramp in my leg from going to
o slow.”
“Fine.”
It took them several hours longer to get home than it took them to get to the inn, but they arrived still rested and relaxed. The other advantage to traveling slowly was that they talked all the way home. It had been years since she and Emily had spent so many concentrated hours together just girl-talking.
They were both ready for bed almost immediately after dinner. Emily went to bed first, and was sitting up in bed reading when Bev stuck her head in to say goodnight. Bev said, “Thanks for suggesting this weekend. I really needed it and I had a blast spending time with you. What do you say when I get this claim headed in the right direction we go on a little trip. Maybe just a long weekend. If you like, we could go to Chicago to visit Mom. She'd love to take us shopping and to the theater.”
Emily thought about that for a minute, “A trip sounds great. Really. I don't know about Chicago, though. For one thing Gram and Aunt Paula wear me out. They both talk too much and they talk too loud. It's kind of exhausting. I'll tell you one thing I'd love to do, but it's such an old fart thing even you'll probably laugh.”
“What?”
“I'd like to go on the Delta Queen. I'd be bored out of my mind if we spent more than maybe one or two nights, but I did a report on river boating a year or so ago, and then remember when my class took that field trip to the Tall Stacks festival in Cincinnati where they had all the paddle wheel boats? I wanted to go on a ride. The guy who was giving out literature on the Delta Queen said that you can get on and off wherever you want. I thought it would be fun to get on the boat at Maysville, Kentucky and ride to, maybe Louisville. I just can't figure out what we'd do with our car.”
“That sounds like fun. We should do it in the fall when the leaves have turned, if that's possible. Let's both do some research on it. What is there to do on the boat? It's not like a cruise ship with pools and entertainment.”
“Well, as I understand it, the customers are mostly old people. They have a dining room and I think maybe a theater of some sort. There is music and what not. I think there's a gym. Personally, I think I'd like to pack a big bag of books, spend a little extra for a balcony room and totally veg for a couple of days watching the world go by.”
Bev leaned over and kissed her daughter and said, “I'll never tell anybody but you've got all the makings of a really boring adult.”
“I know. I think that's why I tried out for cheer-leading. What I really like to do best is sit in my room and read. I thought it would be good for me to get out and be with people and try to be enthusiastic.”
“That sounds good in theory. How's it working for you?”
“Frankly, I'm kinda hoping they cut me. Problem is all of a sudden I'm getting much better vibes from the coaches. I think I may make it.”
Bev laughed and chewed on her lips.
Emily narrowed her eyes and tried not to grin. “And I will thank you not to make any remarks about the cheerleaders being known as the Whore Corps.”
Bev winked and made a zipping motion across her lips. She kissed Emily on the forehead and left the room. Then she stuck her head back in the door, “Actually in my day they were called the Pussy Posse.”
Emily threw a pillow at the door, but Bev was gone.
After the Fire Page 12